


Second Chance

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Community: muse_talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-12
Updated: 2008-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it seems like we could stay like that forever, just standing there, just touching.  Just being together.  Just like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Post Episode 308  
> Written for LJ's Muse_Talking community (1st Person Justin Taylor)  
> Prompt: Pain

The day after Brian takes me back, I wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs.

All of my clothes are at Daph's, of course, so I dig around in Brian's dresser drawers until I find an old pair of track pants that he used to wear to the gym. They're black, with a rip in the knee, and I know they've been freshly laundered but to me they still smell like Brian, like cigarettes and beer and sandalwood soap, like sex and sweat and sarcasm, like love and like everything I've missed for the last six months. I tug them on and they're too long and they feel like they're going to fall off my hips, and I immediately decide that they'll be going home with me.

I pad quietly down to the kitchen expecting to find Styrofoam takeout boxes lined up neatly on the counter. What I discover, instead, is Brian standing at the stove, in his silk robe. Cooking.

"Hey," I say, and I want to touch him. Need to touch him. I walk behind the counter and he wants me just as badly, grabs for my waistband and tugs me in, making a face at my choice of clothing -- I'm sure he'd have preferred that I come to the kitchen naked -- and then his arm is wrapped around my back and he's kissing me, again, my lips are raw from his kisses. It's like he can't get enough.

When we finally break apart he rests his forehead against mine. "Hey," he murmurs against my lips.

And it seems like we could stay like that forever, just standing there, just touching. Just being together. Just like that.

Then the bacon make a sizzling popping screaming noise in the pan and Brian presses another quick kiss to my lips before pulling away to see to the meal. I don't want to release him, but I reluctantly let him turn away. I pull plates and glasses from the cupboard, set them on the table, grab orange juice from the fridge, and it's so domestic and fucking normal that it feels absurd, like I've suddenly fallen into someone else's life, like I have no idea how I got from acting like an idiot to missing him terribly to sharing his bed and his life again in six short months. Like any moment I'm going to wake up on Daphne's sofa and it will all have been a wonderful, awful dream.

But Brian is piling eggs and bacon on the plates, and they smell real. They smell amazing. And his track pants are riding low on my hips and his robe brushes against my arm as he reaches for the juice. And I sit gingerly on one of the chairs and that more than anything tells me that this is real, it's really happening, and I can't stop looking at him, can't stop smiling.

He notices. Presses his lips together and closes his eyes and watches me from beneath his lashes. When he snags a piece of egg and brings it to his mouth, chews slowly, it's like foreplay. The heat floods my body in a rush. I feel seventeen again. Alive again.

I want to jump him right then and there, climb into his lap and on to his cock, have him inside me again. And he knows it, he loves it.

"Eat," he says. Then he eyes me wickedly, wantonly. His eyes rake leisurely over my chest, my chin, stopping to linger on my lips. In his gaze I see all the things he's going to do to me, with me, for me. All the things I've missed. "You're going to need your energy," he says.

When I pick up the fork, my hand is shaking. I stab a slice of bacon and shovel it into my mouth, watching him.

"I didn't know you could cook," I say. Small talk. Conversation to will away the ache in my gut for him, the throbbing of my cock for him. Until he's ready.

"Everyone can cook," he says.

His foot finds mine under the table, slides brazenly up my calf.

"In all the time I've known you," I say, "I've never seen you even make a piece of toast."

"I guess," Brian says, "I just needed the right motivation."

His foot skims along my leg.

And I remember… lying in Ethan's bed, listening to him snoring beside me. Staring at the ceiling and telling myself that my insomnia was due to the demands of school and not the hollow pain of loss, the early understanding of my mistake, the yearning for a love that had nothing to do with roses and dark chocolate. I remember knowing exactly what I had given up in my need for empty promises and fearing that I would never get a second chance.

The chance has been granted. And I've wasted too much time already.

I push my plate away and launch myself at Brian. He catches me, laughing, his chair tilting precariously back before righting itself, and then I am tearing his robe apart, laving my tongue against his chest, and his hand comes up to tug at my hair, pulls me back and finds my lips again, bruising kisses that leave me panting and breathless and wanting more. And then we're both laughing as I steady myself, rise up to push down the track pants, old scruffy pants that are mine now, and then he's inside me and I push against his shoulders and ride him, kiss him again and again as he fills me.

When it's over, I press my forehead against his, palm his cheek with my hand. Breathe his air. "I'm sorry," I say.

I watch the pain flicker across his face for an instant before he shuts it down, forces it inside. I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable denial, for the mystique to win out over the man, but Brian just wraps his arms around me, crushes me against him, buries his face against my chest and licks the sweat from my skin. His lips move against me, soft and warm and wet. "I know," he says.

We'll never talk of it again. We'll never have to. He trails kisses up my chest and to my neck, nips at the shell of my ear and stirs the heat within us again. Again.

This is our new beginning, and a second chance is all we need.


End file.
